Rivalry, My Dear Harley
by madswantstobattle
Summary: Harley Nox is not who you would expect to be an equal match for Reaver. She's bubbly, air-headed, kind - everything he is not. And it irks him to no end. How can she be so handy with a gun when she doesn't even realize she's being kidnapped? But there are rumors afoot. Lucien's men are after the girl. Is she - could she - be a Hero? OC POV/Reaver POV. Rating may change later.
1. A Time of Need

**And so our story begins! Hello all. It's been a while! This needed to come out otherwise I would have blown a gasket, though I'm aware of the other stories I've been meaning/needing to update. I swear those are coming soon. I've just been super busy.**

 **Anyway, I hope ye enjoy. Updates will be soon.**

 **DISCLAIMER: ALL does not own Fable II or its characters. Her little OC is strictly her own.**

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How she loved Bloodstone in the Spring. A pretty pale-haired girl sat perched on a post near the docks, a light brown cloak obscuring most of her features. She watched the citizens of this disorderly town go about their business. The stall vendors tried enticing passersby with their wares (though she wasn't sure what one would do with a flask of Hobb water); she had her brown gaze on a sapphire necklace the jewelry vendor kept tucked away for customers with a bit more gold than the normal shoppers that visited him. The Leper's Arms was bustling with drunken laughter and the crash of plates and pints as a bar fight ensued. Men stumbled out of the bar, their eyes swimming up to look where they were walking. The ladies (and men) of the evening sweet-talked a few of these fellows into staying the night.

But soon the girl was getting restless. She watched the people of this town every day, around the same time, just because she could. And every day, she would look over her shoulder at the cliffs overlooking the bay. Up there was where she wanted to be. Through the gates and into the old cemetery, past the tombstones and into the marsh. Everyone thought she was crazy for wandering around Wraithmarsh by herself, but she felt differently. She knew she had no secrets to hide, no dark thoughts, so the Banshees that infested the abandoned area had no effect on her and the Hollow Men were just skeletons as far as she was concerned. Her favorite part was when the Balverines showed up. They were a challenge, and she liked challenges. The girl squirmed on her perch. What was she waiting for?

"Why, Harley, wha' a pleasn't surprise."

A gruff voice caught the girl's attention as she hopped daintily from her perch. A man with a black eye patch and scars covering most of his face approached her. He stood at least six feet and five inches tall and wore a patched leather coat over a ripped tunic, black trousers fastened with many belts, and shiny black boots. His graying hair was unwashed and unkempt and long and his skin was grimy with dirt. She smiled at the man despite his intimidating appearance.

"Hello Daruis," she greeted. Her accent was thick but her articulation made her easy to understand.

"Goin' off ter th' marsh are we?" Daruis asked, removing a silver flask from his coat and taking a long pull.

"I am," Harley nodded. "How'd you know?"

"Blimey, ya go almos' evr'day! Don' know why, either," Daruis chuckled. "I'd say yer barkin' mad fer steppin' foot on tha' cursed land."

"It's not cursed," Harley retorted. "It's just... Misunderstood."

Daruis snorted, rolling his eyes and taking another pull from the flask. He stowed it back into his coat. "Either way, you best be takin' these. I don' wan' ya ter die out there, ya hear me?"

The large man handed her several bottles of potions. She counted three Children's Health Potions, one Placebo Health Potion, two Cure-All Health Potions, and one small Resurrection Vial. She took them in her arms, smiling up at him once again. "You don't have to do all of this for me, Daruis," she said. "I always come back."

"Yeah, well, I ain't riskin' nothin'. You come back in one piece an' I'll be happy," Daruis patted a large hand gently on her shoulder.

Harley put the potions into her brown leather satchel hidden away under her cloak. She waved goodbye to Daruis and bounded away towards the hill that would lead her to the entrance of the cemetery. People watched her go, whispering to each other behind their hands. She ignored them, her hands itching to grab her sword when she entered the marsh. Harley climbed up the hill, catching glances of the stormy waters of the sea below her before she came to the iron gates. A chill of anticipation traveled down her spine and she pushed them open with a loud squeak of rusted metal.

Nothing greeted her as she walked through the tombstones and into the center of Wraithmarsh. The swamp was silent, the fog seemed to be still. Not even a Banshee shrieked in the distance. Harley thought nothing of it and headed deeper into the marsh, towards the Drowned Farm. Nothing seemed too strange (except the absence of creatures, of course) but there seemed to be voices coming from one of the abandoned houses. Lost merchants perhaps? she thought. Harley strolled through the murky water casually and stuck her head into one of the homes. The voices were definitely coming from the second floor.

"... gives me the willies," they were saying.

"Nothin' we can do 'bout it, eh? We can't just go plunderin' into Bloodstone. We'll get our 'eads shot off!" another voice said.

"Let's just pray we can find this girl and get it over with," the first voice mumbled.

That's when Harley popped her head up the stairs. Two men lounged on the two beds in the corner of the upstairs. They were dressed standard, with white tunics under patchy coats and brown trousers and buckled boots. One was holding a piece of parchment, but she couldn't see the image on the other side. They noticed her and rose quickly to their feet, taking out their pistols and aiming the barrels at her face. She grinned at them.

"Hello," she said happily, ignoring their weapons. After all, she probably just startled them. "Are you looking for someone?"

The one with the parchment looked over at his companion, his jaw dropped slightly in amazement. He jerked his head towards her and pointed at the paper. The other's eyes grew wide and a knowing smile crept on his face. He turned to her, lowering his pistol.

"Yeah, we are," he said. "As a matter of fact, I think you're just the person to help us find 'em."

"Oh! Really?" Harley was delighted. She loved helping people. "Where do I sta-"

Something was thrown over her head and her vision was obscured. A sharp pain in her neck and she was paralyzed. She fell to the floor, still conscious but unable to move.

* * *

"You sure she's the one?"

There she was, hogtied and blinded, on the floor of an abandoned house in the center of Wraithmarsh. What was worse was her limbs refused to work, her voice caught in her throat. She was trapped. Daruis was going to kill her for this. She just focused on her breathing. At least she knew she wasn't dead.

"Yes, I'm sure! look at the poster. She's the spittin' image! I don't know about you, but I want some of that reward that Lord Lucien promised us for this one. Now c'mon. This place has to be crawling with Banshees."

"I haven't seen one since we got here."

Harley felt herself being picked up off the ground and thrown over someone's shoulder. She couldn't protest. Somehow her voice wasn't working. The man started to walk down the stairs, not caring about keeping the girl steady, when he stopped suddenly. Everything was silent for a moment when-

A shriek in the distance.

"What the hell was that?" one asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"That," the other responded. "Would be a Banshee. We need to move."

The air suddenly went still and frigid. Harley could barely breathe. Whispers hissed around them and the wood of the old house creaked. She knew this feeling all too well. A Banshee had gotten inside. One of the men cursed and she heard the sound of a hammer being drawn back followed by the loud crack of gunfire. Someone shouted and Harley crashed back to the ground, her head cracking on the wood of the floor. Another shriek pierced the air. She wanted to cover her ears, but she couldn't. It was so loud. More gunshots, followed by even more shouting. Something dropped heavily to the floor. Footsteps scrambled to get out, down the stairs then out the door. The frigid cold slowly lifted. Harley could feel her limbs regain feeling. She laid there for a moment.

"Hello?"

The voice jolted Harley a bit. This voice was different. Someone new? But they sounded familiar... She managed to lift herself to her knees. The sack - or whatever they had placed over her head - still made it incredibly difficult to see. She was afraid whoever was out there would leave before she could make herself known. Her sword was nowhere on her person (Where had they thrown it?) She couldn't cut her bindings herself if she wanted to. Quickly, she struggled to her feet and leaned heavily against the wall right before the stairs. "H-hello!" her voice rasped a bit but she threw it out loud enough for whoever they were. Surely they would hear her?

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 **I should mention POVs will change between Harley and our special someone (Reaver, obvs.)**

 **Anywho! Please leave reviews! They inspire me so~**


	2. Rescued! But at What Cost?

**Oh my, it seems I have eager people waiting to read the next chapter! I'm sorry about the wait! My school semester is nearly at an end so I will be able to update more frequently!  
**

 **Anyway, I hope ye enjoy~ Updates will be soon.**

 **I would also like to thank** **DaGangstar074 for being my first reviewer! You're the best!**

 **DISCLAIMER: ALL does not own Fable II or its characters. Her little OC is strictly her own.**

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"No, no, no! You have it all wrong. My posture isn't nearly as disfigured as that."

"N-no, please! I can fix it! Just-"

 ** _BANG._**

A man in fine clothes with black hair lowered the polished pistol. The artist he had hired to paint his portrait lay in a bloody heap beneath his easel. The man scoffed, putting his gun back into its holster. It was a shame, really. He would have paid the man good money if he had gotten it right. But he didn't, and he paid for it with his life. A fine trade, if Reaver thought so himself. He pushed the velvet top hat perched atop his head and exited his parlor. Someone would clean up the mess. Reaver was in need of a drink and maybe some good company. He would decide when he got there.

The streets of Bloodstone were as they had always been: poor, dirty, and lined with prostitutes. Reaver was a sort of power here as he owned the only mansion in the little port town. The ex-pirate lived in luxury among the poor. The Leper's Arms was bustling this evening as Reaver pushed passed the drunken men stumbling to get the door. He briefly imagined one of them walking straight off the port and into the ocean and chuckled quietly to himself. He ordered a pint from the bartender, sitting and observing the rowdy townsfolk from his bar stool. But his good time was cut prematurely as a very drunk man tripped and tore his silk dress shirt with the blade of his sword by accident. Reaver very nearly went red in the face and he spun the man (who was at least a foot taller than he was) and jabbed a finger in his chest.

"Ex _cuse_ me, sir, but you seemed to have torn my shirt. Now I don't know about you, but this was very expensive fabric that I graciously took from a shop keep," he said sternly, his fingers brushing against his Dragonstomper. "If you can't pay for a replacement, maybe another trade can be arranged?"

"Wha'chu say, mate?" the man slurred.

"To put it plainly-" Reaver drew his gun and shot the man square in his chest faster than he could have blinked. His body tipped backwards and landed with a very loud _thump._ The noise in the pub had stopped. All eyes were now fixed on Reaver – wide, terrified, and impressed. The man holstered his gun and sneered down at the body. He gave the room a sweeping look. "As you were, dear friends."

With that, Reaver left the Leper's Arms, quite losing his thirst and interest in company. The salty air misted his face with the spray of the sea. Men were working hard to move crates and barrels to their ships, merchants called out their wares to passersby, and a little figure was climbing the side of the cliff towards the Marsh. Reaver quirked an eyebrow. _Who on Earth would go and do a tremendously stupid thing like that?_ But he had to admit it struck his curiosity and soon he too was climbing the side of the cliff to follow. He passed through the graveyard and into Wraithmarsh; a shiver of the past traveled down his spine. This place was meant for memories to be buried. He could almost see the ghost of the place it once was through the murky water and dead, dense trees. A once peaceful village with kind folks and adventurous children all those years ago. The town of Oakvale long since forgotten; burned to the ground in a blaze of fire...

Reaver's attention was brought back to reality when the air suddenly grew very frigid and a shriek pierced the air. It was so loud, it nearly brought Reaver to his knees. It filled him with a dark sadness that reached the very back of his mind. Everything around him suddenly seemed black and white and then... It was over. Color was restored (what little color there was to be seen in a place like this) and Reaver was only left with a dull ringing in his ears. The man ducked behind a large oak tree and peered around it, getting a good look at his surroundings. He had wandered into the Drowned Farm without even realizing it. Shouts rang out and gunshots cracked from inside a house just to his left. Whispers could be heard, cold and menacing. A Banshee had found its next victim. Or victims by the sound of it. A tall outline in red rags with a hood drawn over its face fluttered out of the doorway. A man chased after it, sword drawn and ready to strike. Small black creatures, the Banshee's unnatural offspring, burst from the ground and held the poor lad in place. The Banshee raised a clawed arm and struck once, leaving large gashes in his chest that he would inevitably die from. Blood spilled from his body and the black creatures released him, letting him sink into the water. Reaver had seen enough. No way was he to let this abomination best him if he were discovered. He drew his Dragonstomper and aimed, pulling the hammer back and squeezing the trigger.

One shot was all he needed.

The bullet buried itself into what was to be the Banshee's head. She shrieked in pain, clutching her unseen face from under her hood, and dissipated into wispy white light. Silence filled the air. Everything was safe - for now at least. Reaver holstered his gun once more and approached the body of the unnamed man. He nudged the man over onto his back with his boot. The awful, jagged woulds cut deep into his chest left the ex-pirate unfazed. Instead the man examined his attire. A lowly bandit by the look of him. Reaver scoffed. _Why were a couple of bandits hiding out here of all places? Smart ones, these._

"Hello?" he called out.

He felt silly. Of course no one would be out here. Not after that business. Reaver was about to turn when he was surprised by another voice.

"H-hello!" it was a female voice, and one Reaver recognized.

He stepped inside. The charred house smelled of mold and mud, but the structure stood soundly. He could see why they had chosen this house as their hideout, but he still couldn't quite figure out why they had chosen _Wraithmarsh._ Reaver headed towards the stairs. The second bandit was there, quite dead in fact, sprawled on the stairs with his blood painting the wall next to him. And, standing at the top of the staircase, was a girl. Reaver groaned. What in God's name was _she_ doing here? Harley Nox was leaned against the wall with a burlap sack obscuring her face. Her usual brown cloak was askew on her tiny body, as if the bandits had been handling her roughly for a fast getaway before the Banshee attacked. He could see her pistol poking out from its holster on her hip. He felt irritated just looking at it. But she knew he was here. Too late to turn back and leave her here.

"I say, my dear," he said, smirking at her. "How on Earth did we end up like this, now?"

Harley fidgeted. "Reaver? Is that you?" It seemed her hands were bound behind her back as well. _How delightfully old-fashioned,_ Reaver thought. "I heard voices," she said, her tinkling voice a bit muffled by the sack over her face. "They said they were looking for someone so I offered my help... Then I suddenly couldn't see."

"And that's when you realized they were bandits?" he asked. How dull this girl was in the head. He was even surprised they hadn't killed her.

"Will you just help me out of these binds, please? Daruis will kill me if I don't come back safely."

"If I must," Reaver sighed. "Turn around."

Harley obeyed and the man spent a good minute untying the knotted rope binding her hands together. He couldn't help but notice the fine job they had done with securing her. _If they weren't dead, I might have congratulated them._ Finally, her hands were free and she was able to remove the sack, shaking her pale head with a heavy sigh of relief.

"A shame, really. That was a good look for you," he commented.

Harley ignored him, rubbing her wrists. The rope had created raw red marks around her skin. "What are you doing out here?" she asked.

"It should be me asking the same question to you, dear Harley," he countered. "I saw you climbing the cliff side and decided to follow. Good thing too. If it weren't for me, you'd have been dead. Mauled by a Banshee. Now that's a new one."

"I come out here often," Harley admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. "To fight the Balverines."

 _Balverines, Banshees, and Hollow Men. Oh my!_ Reaver's eyes darted back to her pistol. He was annoyed again. It seemed this little girl was an even better shot than he was, which put a damper in his reputation as one of the best marksmen in Albion. It didn't help that they both lived in Bloodstone, either. It called for rivalry and Reaver was definitely one to show off. He felt his eye twitch slightly. "And look where your little adventure landed you. Kidnapped by bandits! And you said they were looking for someone?"

"Yeah... they said I was just the person who could help them. They had this wanted poster - or was it a flyer? - but I didn't get the chance to look at it before they tied me up and threw that sack over my head," the girl ran her fingers through her hair at the thought.

"Is that so?" Reaver's eyes scanned the room. The flyer hadn't been on the bandits' bodies. Which meant it was still somewhere- _Aha!_ It had escaped to hide under one of the molding beds in the corner. Reaver crossed the room and scooped it up. It was indeed a wanted poster. " _By order of Lord Lucien, 500,000 gold will be rewarded for the return of the person pictured,"_ it read. The photo was an illustration of-

"Oh my, how delightful," Reaver whispered.

Harley's small face was illustrated on the poster with her name in block letters at the bottom. It seemed his little rival wasn't as innocent as she appeared. An order by Lord Lucien? A devilish smile curled his lips. He stuffed the paper into his coat and turned back to Harley.

"What is it? Did you find it?" she asked, bounding over to him. He caught a whiff of her perfume; roses mixed with cinnamon. He shivered. He was annoyed again.

"Not good; in fact, I'm afraid it's quite serious," he answered.

"What do you mean?" Harley's eyes widened in fear. Reaver laughed in his head. _Oh you poor, naive child._

"It wasn't a poster, it was hand-written orders from their boss," he lied. "It seems they have mistaken you for their next target. And if I know bandits, you better take my word that they won't stop until they have your pretty little head on a stake - or at least until they catch whoever it is they're _actually_ looking for."

"What should I do?" the girl was wringing her hands nervously, her eyes darting around the room.

Reaver sneered. "If I were you, I would go into hiding. Color your hair, change your name, whatever you want. But you're wanted and that's that."

"Oh dear..." Harley sighed. She drew her hood over her head. "What will I say to Daruis?"

"You need not worry, my dear Harley. I will tell Daruis myself of your plight," he placed a hand on her shoulder. There was that scent again... "But quickly now, before more bandits and bounty hunters come looking for you."

Harley nodded and soon, she was off. Reaver watched her scurry down the stairs and gazed through the window as she headed in the opposite direction of Bloodstone. A laugh escaped his lips. He was finally rid of his rival.

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 **I do hope I did Reaver justice. It's been a very long time since I played Fable OwO  
**

 **Reviews help~! And I really appreciate them!**


	3. No Time For Goodbyes

**What's this? A brand new chapter? And so soon? What is this blasphemy?! Anyway! Chapter three! I have had some free time these last few days so I'm able to update this (and possibly another one of my stories) so soon! It's a wonderful feeling to get things done.  
**

 **Anyway, I hope ye enjoy~  
**

 **I would also like to thank** **DaGangstar074 again for reviewing. You're rad. Stay that way.  
**

 **DISCLAIMER: ALL does not own Fable II or its characters. Her little OC is strictly her own.**

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Something plopped onto Harley's head. The pale-haired girl looked up to the sky. _Water?_ It happened again, this time on her nose. Then again. And again, and again, until the rain began drenching everything around her. Harley whimpered and drew her hood further over her face. This wasn't exactly her idea of a leisurely stroll. Actually, it wasn't leisurely at all. She had just discovered herself to be falsely wanted by a bunch of bandits and they were going to stop at nothing until they collected their bounty for her head on a pike – or someone who happened to look like her. All she had wanted to do was go into Wraithmarsh to face the Balverines…

 _"Down by the reeds… Down by the reeds…"_ she sang to herself. Her voice floated through the rain, soft and sweet; a tune she remembered that her mother sang to her when she was a girl. _"Swim the sirens of Oakvale out to the seas…"_

A shiver trailed down her spine. This rain was cold and her cloak clung to her in weird places. She suddenly wished she were back home in Bloodstone with a blazing fire burning in her fireplace. She could almost hear the crackle of the flames, the whistle of her tea kettle…

 _"Down by the reeds… Down by the reeds... Float the souls left unbroken by white Balverines…"_

Her trail was beginning to grow deep with murky mud puddles. Harley stepped lightly to avoid them, but nearly lost her boot twice in the muck. The rain was coming down harder than before. It created a curtain that made it hard to see. The poor girl trekked on, shrugging her cloak closer to her.

 _"Down by the reeds, night-blooming weeds embrace those who go dancing in sad moonlit dreams… Down by the reeds, a twisted path leads to Banshees who breathe out a cold winter breeze…"_

Harley's foot was sucked into a puddle and she went tumbling to the sopping wet ground. Her entire front was soiled with mud and dead leaves. She shook her head, wiped furiously at the filth that had covered her eyes and mouth. The rain beat down on her, relieving her of some of it. Harley sat there for a while, filthy, cold, tired. She wanted a warm bed to sleep in, a change of clothes to wear, a hot bath to soak in. The girl pulled herself onto a rock near her and sat, burying her head in her hands. She couldn't help herself; she started to cry.

 _"Nobody knows… Nobody sees… The sirens of Oakvale… Down by the reeds…"_ she was barely able to finish the song. She choked the words out in between sobs, hunched over with her arms wrapped around her middle as if she were trying to keep her insides from spilling out. Why her? What had she done to deserve this? If someone was out there that looked like her that knew bandits were after them, why hadn't they just turned themselves in? Why did it have to be her that they wanted? It wasn't like she could simply explain that the whole situation was a massive misunderstanding. They would laugh in her face and slice her head right off her shoulders where she stood. And now… Here she was, homeless, temporarily nameless for her own sake, powerless to stop what was happening to her. She was, however, grateful that Reaver had been the one to tell her the best choice of action. After all, without him, she would have been dead already.

A light was cast over her and Harley shot her head up. A beam of light coming from an iron lantern wobbled towards her. She covered her eyes to try and get a good look at whoever was at the other end of it. It was a man. He was tall with light hair and a fine face. He rushed over to her as soon as he realized she was alone, his expression one of deep concern.

"Are you alright, lass? What are you doing out here in this weather?" he asked, his accent thicker than hers.

"I-I-" she managed, but couldn't quite find her voice. It had been a while since she had actually talked with another soul.

"Don't bother answering them right now. Let's get you somewhere dry. You'll catch your death if you're out here any longer, lass," the man removed his drenched coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. It was much warmer than her cloak if anything. He gently brought Harley to her feet and guided her through the downpour.

Through the trees and the rain Harley could just barely make out the lights shining through the windows of a small cabin just off the trail. Smoke puffed out of the chimney and she could feel the warmth of the fire from the front lawn. The rain seemed insignificant at this time. The man lead her inside and shut the door behind them. It was a cozy cabin with a small kitchen and dining area. To the left were two bedrooms, one seemed fit for a child, the other obviously his room. But there were no children present. Harley felt a pang in her chest. She wondered what could have happened to them.

"Make yourself at home, lass. I'll put the kettle on," he said, moving around her to the cupboard next to the fireplace.

"Thank you," she responded quietly.

Harley watched him put water into his black kettle and hang it from the spit over the flames. The warmth reached through her soaked clothes to her freezing skin. She briefly thought of stepping into the fire to feel warmer. She pushed the silly thought aside.

"Oh! Where are my manners? I brought you here without even telling you my name. You must think me a madman," he said, smacking his forehead with his hand. "My name is Allen Beech. It's nice to meet you."

"I'm-" she paused. Would he turn her into the bandits if she told him her name? She looked around at his home. It was normal, as far as she could tell, with a few dirty dishes in the sink, warm colored furniture, and a welcoming air. He didn't seem the person to turn on someone in need. Could she risk it? _Would_ she risk it? "I'm Harley Nox," she finally said. She risked it before even making a decision.

For a moment, it seemed as if Allen's eyes widened, but it was quickly covered by a lighthearted chuckle. "A pleasure, lass," he said. The kettle started to sing and soon a steaming cup of tea was pressed into her hands that she drank from deeply. The drink warmed her insides. She shivered.

"I'm sorry to ask this," she said after a moment. "We've only just met but I fell in the mud before you found me and I could very well go for a bath."

Allen flushed a light pink. "O-oh, right. Sure. L-let me find you something to wear."

He rose and wandered off into his bedroom. Harley could hear him open up a wardrobe and begin rummaging through it, moving things aside and occasionally knocking his head off of the door. Finally he returned with a simple white nightgown. He handed it to her, his eyes looking everywhere but at her. She took it, a smile playing on her lips. "Thank you."

"I have a washroom next to my bedroom. At least you'll have some privacy," Allen explained. "I just put warm water into the basin. Don't worry about cleaning it. I can get to it later."

The washroom was a small room off of the main bedroom. It had a simple sink and a small pearly basin filled with water that was still slightly steaming. Harley dipped her hand in it. It was warm and she couldn't wait to wash off the filth that was caked onto her skin. She removed her clothes and stepped into the water. She personally wasn't as dirty as she originally thought, and soon she was scrubbing her clothes until the water turned murky with filth. She wrung them out, threw on the nightgown, and returned to Allen who was stoking the fire. He looked up when he noticed her.

"Lay those in front of the fireplace. They'll be dry in no time, lass," he smiled at her. Harley laid her cloak and other things in front of the flames, resisting the urge to completely hog the warmth for herself. Allen cleared his throat. "So what brings you to this part of the woods by yourself?"

Harley hesitated. She had already told him her real name... Could she trust him enough to tell him her real story? _Some things are just better left unsaid..._ "Oh, I was just passing through," she finally said. "But I guess I left at the wrong time and ended up being caught in this rain... Thank you for helping me. I realize I never properly thanked you."

"It's no problem," Allen waved a hand. "I hope the gown is alright. It's really all I have left of... Well... Of my wife's belongings."

"Oh... What happened?" Harley gripped the hem of the gown.

"A house fire," he said, running a hand through his blonde hair. "I was away on business so I wasn't able to help them... My wife and my daughter both perished in the flames."

"I'm... I'm sorry to hear that," she replied. _How awful... But... I know exactly what it feels like to lose the people you love..._

"It's not so bad after a while. I do miss them terribly, as anyone should, but the experience taught me to enjoy life while I have it," he smiled, but Harley could see his eyes were empty and lost. She felt sorry for him. The girl brought her gaze to the fire. She watched the flames dance and lick at the wood beneath it. The two didn't speak for a long while, just listened to the crackle and pop of the fire. Finally, Allen stood, stretching his arms above his head. "I'm sure your clothes are dry by now. You must be tired. You can sleep in the second bedroom... And... by all means, please stay as long as you need. I'm always happy to help."

"Thank you..." Harley felt as if she deserved none of this man's hospitality.

"Goodnight, Harley," he said, and went to his bedroom, closing the door softly behind him.

* * *

The door to the spare bedroom creaked open and a hand covered Harley's mouth before she even had a chance to open her eyes. Allen stood over her with a finger pressed to his lips. His eyes were cast with a look of worry and pleaded with her to keep quiet. He looked over his shoulder into his living area and shut her door again.

"I know who you are," he whispered. "And they know you're here. I've been hearing voices outside for the last ten minutes. They'll be breaking down my door soon."

"W-what?" her heart was thrashing in her chest. They knew she was here? How could they possibly know?

"Change, quickly," he told her. "There's a trapdoor under your bed that leads to the cellar. Once there, you'll see another door that will take you outside. No matter what you hear, I want you to run and not look back."

"But what about you?" Harley was worried. He had been so kind to her when he had no reason to. She had been a stranger to him. And now his life was on the line... Because of her.

Allen shook his head, a doleful smile on his lips that reached his eyes. "Don't you worry about me, lass. I'll be fine. Now, quickly. I reckon they'll kick down the door any second."

He left, leaving Harley scrambling to put on her own clothes. She fastened her cloak around her shoulders and laid the nightgown Allen had borrowed her lovingly onto the bed, which she had made up out of respect. She was tying her boots when there was a tremendous crash at the front door.

"I say now," she heard Allen say. "What do you lads think you're doing?"

"Shut up," a gruff voice growled. "We know she's 'ere and yer goin' to 'and 'er over personally or I'll paint these walls with yer blood."

"I-I have no clue what you're talking about," Allen stuttered. Harley ducked under the bed. She could see the handle of the trap door through the darkness. Would they hear her if she tried opening it now?

"Don't play dumb, ya stupid shit. Now tell us where she is."

"I am _telling_ you, I have no idea what you're going on about. There is no one here but me, myself, and I," Allen's voice was beginning to gather strength. She imagined it was right pissing the bandits off. She feared what was to come next.

"'Ave it your way then," there was a sadistic tone in the bandit's voice. She didn't like that too much. And then-

 _ **BANG.**_

Harley felt her heart stop. There was a loud thump as Allen's body hit the floor. She had to get out, and she had to get out now. She shoved the trapdoor open without caring if it made noise and slipped down to the dark. Allen's cellar was filled with barrels and covered furniture that wouldn't have fit in his home if he tried. To her right was the other door he told her about. She ran for it, crashing through the wooden doors and into the night. She kept running until she felt as if her legs would give out and her heart would burst from her chest. Tears streamed down her face. Allen was dead because of her. She would forever have that guilt in her heart. _I'm sorry... I hope you're with your wife and daughter now..._

Her foot caught on a dip in the dirt path. Harley tumbled to the ground. She felt so tired, so completely drained. She didn't bother to get up. She simply closed her eyes, disregarding the lights of Oakfield that shone through the early morning gloom.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading!  
**

 **Reviews help~! And I really appreciate them!**


	4. Why Him?

**And I have managed another chapter! In reality, I have this entire story planned out - it's just a decision on whether I should go with a more monstrous (on my part) ending, or a predictable ending. Still deciding! But really, predictability is dull and boring, let's face it...  
**

 **Anyway, I hope ye enjoy~  
**

 **DISCLAIMER: ALL does not own Fable II or its characters. Her little OC is strictly her own.**

* * *

"Hey, wake up!"

Harley stirred. Why did her head feel so heavy? And why was this bed so hard? She also didn't remember it being so cold… The girl blinked her eyes open. Her vision was blurry, and everything seemed to be swaying back and forth. She was… on the ground? Harley sat up. She was outside, tall oak trees rustled with a gentle breeze that whispered in her ears. Ahead, she could see the roof of a pub. She recognized this path. It lead straight to the peaceful town of Oakfield. Had she really come this far from Bloodstone? Then she remembered…

"Are you alright? What were you doing sleeping out here?"

A large woman with red hair in tasteful dreadlocks peered down at her. There was a large hammer strapped to her back, the head sweeping the ground. Harley wasn't able to find her voice. Her throat felt dry and itchy. When she opened her mouth to speak, she went into a coughing fit. The woman crouched next to her, her hands out in case Harley fell over, hesitant to touch her. "Easy now. Do you need water? I have some right here."

A flask was pressed into Harley's hands. Water sloshed around inside and immediately she began pulling long swigs from it. Before she knew it, the water was gone, but she could finally speak. She gave the flask back sheepishly. "S-sorry…" she rasped.

"What're you sorry for? You needed that, you did," the woman replied. "So how come you were out here, sleeping on the ground?"

"I- uh…" the events of the night before flashed through her mind. Allen was dead, killed by bandits that were after _her._ And all she did was run. Harley swallowed hard. "I guess I had been traveling for too long without resting and it finally caught up with me."

"Pushed yourself too hard there, I think," the woman laughed. "Well, at any rate, you're okay now and that's all that matters."

Harley tried to smile, but something behind Hammer caught her attention. A light? There were so many trees she could barely tell what it was. Movement... Was it a person? The light grew larger and then-

"Watch out!" Harley pushed the woman out of the way and drew her pistol, pulled the hammer back, and shot, all with frightening speed. The bullet whizzed through the trees, missing each trunk and branch as if it were only seeking out whatever it was that was casting a spell at the woman. She heard a faint _thunk_ as the bullet found its target and the light flickered and died. The woman stared at Harley in disbelief. Harley holstered her pistol again.

"What in the name of the gods was that?" she questioned, picking herself heavily off the ground. "What did you just shoot?"

"I-I don't know. I saw a light and it looked like a spell was being cast at you so I acted," Harley went red in the face.

"Well let's not waste anymore time! I want to see what the hell it was."

The two rushed towards the tree line. There was just enough space to travel through the forest, but it was plain that barely anyone came out this way. No paths were laid out, not even a man made one that feet would have stamped into the wild brush. It was a ways before they came across Harley's incredible kill: a small Hobbe dressed in ridiculous mage robes. Its staff, which Harley figured to be the source of the light, lay at its side, the crystal gem held in place by a nasty-looking claw was dull and lifeless. The woman's jaw nearly dropped to the floor. She looked from Harley to the Hobbe to her pistol and back again before she found the words she was looking for.

"That- that was an _incredible_ shot!" she stammered. "How did you even _see_ the little bastard? From _that_ far away?"

Harley shook her head. Truth was, she had always been an excellent shot. She tried not to show it off if she could help it, but her sword was still missing from her encounter with the bandits in Wraithmarsh. Her pistol was all she had with her. The woman was examining her. She bent at the waist to get a better look at Harley's face. Then she gasped.

"I know you!" she finally said. She reached into a satchel strapped to her belt and removed a piece of paper, presenting it to her. Harley took it and read it over while the woman spoke. "Lucien and his men have been looking all over for you! And now there are bandits in for the gold on your head. I _knew_ I recognized you! But I never thought I'd find you right at Oakfield's front door..."

"' _By order of Lord Lucien, 500,000 gold will be rewarded for the return of person pictured,_ '" Harley read aloud. Her eyes wandered down to the illustration where her own face stared back up at her. Harley felt her heart sink. Was _this_ why the bandits had been after her? "' _Harley Nox, a Hero of Skill, is to be captured and returned alive to the Spire by orders of Lord Lucien._ '"

Her? A Hero? It couldn't be... She was sure she didn't belong to a Hero bloodline. Even worse, Lucien's men were after her. It wasn't bandits looking for someone who _looked_ like her. It wasn't a simple mistake. She was _wanted._ Reaver had _lied_ to her. But... why? She felt betrayed, hurt. She was at a loss for words... Why would he do that to her? What had she done to him?

"Anyway, you're a Hero!" the woman said happily. "That's great! So am I! You and I aren't so different after all. We've been looking for the Hero of Skill for ages now, but I had always heard that the person who turned out to be you was a man... Funny how things plan out, eh?"

"Y-you're a hero too?" Everything was beginning to make less and less sense to her. There were _two_ Heroes? She had always thought Heroes were just old fairy tales, made up for the enjoyment of children. Her mother had read her stories about the Hero of Oakvale when she was a child and she never dreamed something like that could possibly exist... And the woman had said "we". Did that mean there were more Heroes? Harley felt her knees grow weak. Something was bothering her, still... She looked down at her wanted poster once more. _"A Hero of Skill."_ Not just " _The_ Hero of Skill." There was one more that Lucien knew about...

"The Hero of Strength as they told me," the woman nodded. She seemed oblivious to Harley's internal struggle. She'd rather it stayed that way... "Oh, right! I got so into talking that I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Hannah, but you can call me Hammer. Everyone else does, and I've quite grown to like it myself."

"I'm Harley, though you've already probably figured that out," Harley said.

"Let's get you out of here before some dope sees you and alerts Lucien's men," Hammer grabbed Harley's hood and tugged it gently over her head. "Theresa will want to see you at the Guild. To test your blood, just to make sure."

Harley followed without question. After all, questions lead to even more confusing answers.

* * *

"Incredible."

Harley stood in the center of a bright light, tiny colored orbs dancing around her. Hammer had brought her to a place she had called the Heroes' Guild through a soft blue light that transferred them inside from atop a stone hill overlooking Bower Lake. A blind gypsy woman called Theresa, Garth - the Hero of Will - and Hammer stood around her, watching the colored lights float to the high ceiling. The poor girl was still at a loss of what was going on. Everything had come down on her so fast. One thing she did know was that the people around her were not out to hurt her or turn her in to Lucien. She took comfort in that and was able to relax, at least for a while.

"W-what's incredible?" she asked.

"You certainly do have Hero's blood in you," Theresa said. "This is quite unexpected."

"But its a good thing, right?" Hammer turned to the blind woman, her expression more or less animated. "She's just another addition to the original three Heroes! That has to count for something, doesn't it?"

"Two is company, but three is a crowd. What's to say a fourth is no different?" Garth crossed his arms. "But I do agree, five Heroes does have a sort of... liberating sound to it. Maybe we could use her to stop Lucien as well as our original third."

"You may step out of the light, young one," Theresa addressed Harley kindly and she obeyed. Immediately the bright light disappeared and the Chamber of Fate was once again dull with torch fire. The gypsy turned to Hammer. "Speaking of our third, Sparrow should be here soon. I have called for him through the Guild Seal. Then you'll be able to tell us of what you learned."

As if on cue, the doors to the Chamber of Fate opened and a tall young man with unkempt black hair stepped inside. A husky dog bound in at his heels, tongue lolling out of his mouth and his ears perked. Harley took note of the glowing blue scars across this man's face. Though there weren't as many on him as there were on Garth, she could tell who this man was. He was the Hero of Bowerstone. The one who could master Will, Skill, and Strength as if were child's play. He gave her a quizzical look.

"Who is this?" he asked. His dog barked and rolled over at her feet, exposing his white belly to her. Harley couldn't help but smile. She bent down and scratched him. He kicked his hind legs happily.

"It seems Hammer has found us a second Hero of Skill," Theresa explained. "On top of the other, we now have five Heroes to help bring down Lucien. And Hammer has information she wishes to share of our third Hero."

"Mostly gathered from a tavern, I hear?" Garth japed.

"Not one, lots of 'em. I did a proper tour," Hammer scowled, removing her hammer from her back. She balanced it on her shoulder. "Right. I think this bloke, the Thief, is a pirate called Reaver."

Harley started. Reaver? A Hero? She felt her blood boil in her veins. How could _he_ possibly be a _Hero?_ She kept her mouth shut. No one seemed to notice her. Hammer continued. "He runs the port of Bloodstone, to the southwest."

"And you got this from some drunk?" Garth inquired, waving a hand.

"Yeah?" Hammer furrowed her eyebrows at him. "He sailed with Reaver for years. Said they captured hundreds of ships."

"Doesn't mean he's a Hero," Harley agreed with the Will user - but for a different reason. "Lots of pirates capture ships."

The woman shook her head. "Reaver takes down galleons with one bullet. High winds, rough seas, a mile away, it doesn't matter; he picks off the captain. The more impossible the shot, the quicker the crew surrenders."

"Impressive," Garth nodded. "But we're not trying to make Lucien surrender."

"No," Hammer growled. "We're not..."

"Bloodstone is surrounded by Wraithmarsh on three sides - and ocean on the fourth," Theresa said to Sparrow. He gave her a solemn look. Harley seemed to be the only one who knew a way into the marsh, but she kept quiet. It was no business of theirs that she knew Reaver prior. They would get there one way or another.

"No matter," said Garth, waving his hand again. "We can reach it via cullis gate."

"Not this one," Theresa frowned. "It leads only to Hero Hill."

"Got another one handy, have you?" Hammer smirked.

"I built one, at my tower. It can get us to Wraithmarsh."

"Okay, you're a genius," Hammer admitted. "Does it work?"

"It should take some time to activate, but it should work," Garth nodded. Harley's stomach did funny flips.

"'Should'?" Hammer questioned, crossing her arms.

"You must do this together," Theresa interrupted. Harley thought her a saint for not losing her patience. Garth and Hammer's bickering was grating on the girl's nerves. "Lucien has sent men to guard Brightwood tower."

"Okay then, let's go!" Hammer eagerly waved her weapon in the air. She turned to Garth. "After you, your _Brilliance_."

"Barbarian..." Garth muttered.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading~! POV may change to Reaver in the next chapter. Or it may not. Probably not yet. But who knows? Deciding is hard. *shrugs*  
**

 **Reviews help~! And I really appreciate them!**


	5. Into the Marsh

**Heyo~! Luna here with yet another chapter! I've been on a roll lately...  
**

 **Anyway, I hope ye enjoy~  
**

 **DISCLAIMER: ALL does not own Fable II or its characters. Her little OC is strictly her own.**

* * *

Harley never imagined her life to change so abruptly in such a short amount of time. In the past two days, she had gone from a spunky girl from Bloodstone with a love for a challenge to a Hero of Skill to an alley for the Hero of Bowerstone. She had been nearly kidnapped by bandits in a very untimely fashion, betrayed by someone she had grown up around, and had someone killed because of the bounty on her head. Her world had, almost quite literally, been flipped upside down; all she wanted to do was sit down for a moment and let the whole thing sink in before she could move on. But at that moment, it was impossible and she just had to deal with it.

"Watch out!"

The girl had been so focused on the task at hand that she didn't notice the stone spikes coming her way. Harley rolled out of the way just in time, raising her pistol and killing the tall figure in black in one shot. Around her was chaos. Spire guards and Shards clustered around the four of them at the near top of Brightwood tower. Among them were identical men in black hats and masks, something Sparrow had called "Commandants". They were giving the Heroes the most trouble. Garth was doing his best to get the cullis gate in the center activated again. It was nearly finished, but Harley could barely stay upright. It felt like they had been fighting for eternity...

"The cullis gate is open!" she heard Garth shout. "Hurry through before more of them show up."

Sparrow and Harley dove for the pale blue light at the same time; their hands gripped the orb in the center. There was a tremendous roar in Harley's ears as the two of them were enveloped in light, then everything flashed red and Harley was thrown forcibly backwards. She hit something hard - a tree, perhaps - and crumpled to the ground, the wind knocked completely out of her lungs. She lay on the cold ground for a moment, gaping like a fish out of water. She just couldn't seem to get enough air. The edges of her vision were white; everything hurt. Finally, the pain subsided and she slowly began taking in breaths of air. She pushed herself to her hands and knees, taking in her surrounds for the first time. She was back in Wraithmarsh. The familiar atmosphere almost made her cry out with happiness - but she soon remembered the reason they were here in the first place: Reaver. Her smile fell and she scowled. What would she even say once they met face to face again? Would he even feel bad for what he did? _Not a chance..._ she thought, picking herself off the ground. _Anyway... I have to find Sparrow and the others... Who knows where the Banshees are?_

 _"The others didn't make it through. It's just you and Sparrow here."_

Harley jumped. Theresa seemed to be speaking to her in her head. She knew the gypsy woman could do such things, but Harley had very little experience with it. That aside, she definitely needed to find Sparrow. Banshees were hardly found anywhere else but in Wraithmarsh.

"Well, well, well... What have we got here? Heh heh heh..."

A gruff voice that Harley didn't recognize. The girl crouched, ducking behind the truck of a dead tree. She peered around it. A thick fog had moved in, making it near impossible to see anything. There was the cullis gate, but the light was no longer shining. In the center was Sparrow, sprawled on the ground and unconscious. There was an elderly man in an open tunic standing over his body holding a torch. A knowing smirk cut through his aged skin as he took Sparrow by the wrists and began dragging him further into the Marsh. _Not good. Who was that? I've never seen him before..._ Harley crept out from her hiding spot and followed the old man. She stayed just out of sight in case he was armed, keeping track of his struggling silhouette in the fog. She wondered where he could possibly be taking the unconscious Hero when stone fences lead the way into a familiar clearing. The ground dipped downwards and rose above the water level in odd places. Moss-covered rocks blocked the way into the suffocating forest and the fences were crumbling from age. No other living creature stirred (and if they were out there, they were smart not to let themselves known). They were just outside of the Drowned Farm - the enemy's hunting ground.

The old man dragged Sparrow's body to an old rusted caravan, tossing him in and closing the barred door. Harley circled around quietly, keeping her steps light and her head from view. She needed to find a way to get Sparrow out of that cage when he came to... And take out the old man if she needed to. From inside the cage, Sparrow groaned. He raised himself onto his elbows, scrubbing a hand over his face and through his hair before getting his first look at the new surroundings. A look of uneasiness washed over him. He had definitely not anticipated Wraithmarsh to be this frightening. Harley couldn't blame him. After all, if he knew the full history of this place...

The old man approached the cage, holding out the torch to get a better look at the man inside. "Is it alive?" he wondered aloud. Then he sneered. "You had a dog with ya, there like. It ran off into the fog. Heheheheh, the Banshees'll have it by now," he wheezed through a laugh that was cut sort by a coughing fit. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "Aye, you've seen the last of that mongrel. I can tell ya."

Sparrow balled his hands into fists at his side but said nothing. The scars across his skin glowed fiercely blue.

"Ah... You from Bloodstone, eh?" the old man asked. "No... No, you ain't got the stink of it about ya. 'Tis a wicked place. Would be burnt to the ground if there was any justice... So, what do I do about you?" he scratched his neck, looking over Sparrow with a sadistic twinkle in his eye. "Reckon I'll burn you as well... Heheheh!"

The fog suddenly felt as if it were pressing in, creating a wall from every angle. Harley felt a chill travel up her spine - she knew it all too well. If she were correct, she had to get Sparrow out of that cage as fast as possible. She took out her pistol slowly from its holster. Something cold and wet touched her hand. The girl jumped. It turned out to be Sparrow's dog (which he had named Jasper, as she found out from their long trip to Brightwood). The animal whined at her, raising a furry paw and lowering her hand. His ears perked and he directed his attention to the scene before them. Harley quirked an eyebrow. _This dog is unnaturally smart..._

But his intelligence proved to be useful. Harley's eyes darted back to the old man. He had turned to face the fog, suddenly aware of the danger that crept ever closer. She could feel her heartbeat in her throat, hear the blood rushing in her ears. And then the man charged into the fog without any means of protecting himself. She almost stopped him, almost gave herself away by calling out. But Jasper gripped her cloak with his teeth as if telling her to wait.

"No - no, please!"

The old man pleaded from the fog. An otherworldly shriek pierced the air followed by his terrified screams. Harley doubled over with her hands covering her ears. To encounter a Banshee this far from the Drowned Farm was rare and she was scared that she wouldn't be able to get to Sparrow in time. Both screams quickly died, leaving Harley frozen in place. Did it know there were others out here? Or had it gone away? The chill she had felt was slowly subsiding. The fog cleared, though it still clung to the thick air. She didn't hear the hissing whispers or see the Banshee spawn scampering about. It seemed all was safe - for now. Jasper nudged her with his nose, telling her it was time to move, before he bounded out of the trees towards the cage. She scrambled after him. Sparrow seemed relieved to see the two of them.

"You're alive," he sighed. "What _was_ that?"

"A Banshee," Harley explained. "And it's safe to say we won't be seeing the old man again. C'mon, we need to get you out of there."

"Jasper!"

The dog took off into the fog before either of them could stop him. Harley's heart thrashed in her chest. What if the Banshee got to him? They needed to hurry. The girl whirled back around and tried the cage door. It was locked.

"I can't get it open!" she pushed and shoved, but nothing budged. Sparrow was too big to squeeze through the bars. "I'll have to break the lock."

"Wait," Sparrow cautioned. Jasper barked from the fog and soon, he came bounding back, a key dangling from his teeth. Harley nearly laughed with joy. He was probably the smartest dog she had ever met. He dropped the key into Harley's hand and she quickly unlocked the cage door and threw it open. Sparrow jumped out and Jasper hopped into his arms. "Good boy! Alright, let's get moving. Who knows where that Banshee went?"

Wraithmarsh was just as she had left it, though the most that had changed was the mysterious old man... He seemed to know the area just as well as she did. How long had he been there? How could he have possibly survived in such a dangerous area? She had been through the Marsh more times than she could count, slaying numerous Banshees, countless Hollow Men, and many Balverines but she had never once encountered another human in Wraithmarsh. _Except for Reaver... but he had never given me reasons why. Not that I'd ask for them anyway._ She was angry again. She was about to meet with the ex-pirate in a matter of hours, and now that she knew the truth of her bounty and her bloodline, she wasn't sure how she was to react upon seeing him. He had _lied_ to her; sent her running scared because of intentional false information. And for what reason? Well... she was determined to find out any way that she could. Her hands curled into fists. _That block-headed, no good, egotistical-_

"Harley?"

"Huh?" Sparrow was staring apprehensively at her. She blushed.

"Is everything okay?" he asked.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine," she lied - something she had been doing a lot lately. "I guess I'm just a little creeped out. This place isn't exactly welcoming."

"True," he nodded. "But it isn't as if you were by yourself. I imagine one would go mad out here being alone."

The muddy path twisted its way directly into the Drowned Farm. The abandoned coach stables were illuminated dully by the ghostly lanterns lit along the road. The sunken houses were gray and flooded by the murky swamp. The two sloshed through it and into the nearest house to their left. Harley recognized it to be the house where she had almost been kidnapped, but the bodies of the bandits had long been dragged off. By Balverines, she imagined. She pushed that thought aside. Thinking about that in a place like this wasn't the smartest idea. They decided to rest for a bit. There was far more traveling than actual rest for them in the last twenty-four hours and Harley gladly sank into the nearest spindly chair in the old dining room. Her entire body ached in places she didn't even think could be sore. _If this is the life of a Hero I think I'd rather be dead._ Sparrow sat across from her, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes. Jasper crawled under the table, lying heavily onto the floor and letting out a very long, very relieved sigh. Harley rested her chin on her hands and observed her companion. She had heard Hammer talking about how he had spent ten years in the Spire. He had worked his way through the ranks and had achieved the title "Officer." He had also completely disobeyed the Commandant's commands for those ten years, keeping to his good name even under such pressures. The glowing blue scars across his skin were faint at the moment, but she couldn't help but notice how they swirled and crossed to make interesting patterns where they marked him; not anything like regular scars. It was just another thing she could admire him for. Sparrow cracked an eye.

"What?" he smirked at her.

Harley blushed again. "N-nothing! I was just thinking..."

"About...?" he leaned the chair back and rested his feet atop the old table, folding his arms behind his head.

"Well..." she couldn't think of another lie. But what was the point? He and the others would find out about her prior relationship to Reaver eventually. There was no sense in her keeping it from Sparrow (or the others) any longer. She sighed. "I know Reaver. In fact, I'm from Bloodstone myself. He's the reason I even left Bloodstone in the first place."

Sparrow's eyebrow rose. "You're serious?" he asked. "What did he say to make you leave?"

Harley glared down at her lap. "I use to come out here to fight the Balverines. It was a sort of daily routine I had made for myself, just to practice with my sword. To get better, you know? The last time I was here, I got caught up with a couple of bandits who were looking for someone. That someone turned out to be me, but at the time, I didn't know it. Then, a Banshee comes along, kills the bandits and leaves me with a sack over my head and my hands bound behind my back. If it weren't for Reaver, I probably would have been killed by the Hollow Men or something worse. But it was also him that told me that the bandits had orders from their boss. Said they were looking for someone who looked exactly like me. So I fled. Hammer found me outside of Oakfield and told me I had a bounty on my head by order of Lord Lucien for being a Hero of Skill. Reaver lied to me. And I plan on finding out why."

Sparrow was quiet for a moment. "He sounds like a right bloody tool, if you ask me," he finally said. "Why did you believe him?"

Harley shrugged. "I thought I could trust him. But I thought wrong. And now I want to know how he, of all people, could possibly be a Hero. I mean, aren't Heroes suppose to be good?"

"Not all of them..." Sparrow muttered. But his eyes were drawn to something outside. Harley turned.

The fog had returned, completely obscuring the trio's view of the other houses. A chill filled the room. Their breath came out in wisps from their mouths. The whispering started. Jasper was on alert under the table, his chest rumbling with a bass growl. A Banshee was near. Sparrow drew his Master Cutlass from his back and crept forward. A black silhouette was peering into the well in the center of the circle of houses. It appeared to be a woman in red rags, but Harley had faced enough of them to know better. As Sparrow approached, she turned, revealing a black void under the hood where a head would have been, shrieking so loud Harley thought her ears would bleed. The Banshee covered her face and Sparrow sprung into action. He circled around the creature, the blade of the cutlass pointed at his target. The Banshee shrieked again and little black spawn burst from the ground as she drifted into the fog out of sight. Harley drew her pistol and shot in her direction. The Banshee screamed. Sparrow sliced through the shadowy monsters at his feet and charged at the Banshee as she visibly grew limp. He jabbed the blade through her middle. She screamed in pain, shoving him away with a grotesque hand. The whispers began. Harley was unable to make them out, but she watched as Sparrow froze where he stood. His eyes grew wide. Sweat beaded his forehead and his arms and legs began trembling. He seemed to be paralyzed with fear.

"Sparrow?" he didn't respond. The black spawn circled around him, but he didn't seem to notice. What was this bitch saying to him? "Sparrow!?"

The creatures took hold of the Hero's legs, keeping him in place as the Banshee drifted closer to him. The whispers grew harsher, shriller. Harley could see tears welling in Sparrow's eyes. The creature raised a clawed arm, preparing to strike the Hero down. Harley pulled the pistol's hammer back and squeezed the trigger. The bullet pierced through her hood. She shrieked in pain and exploded into wispy balls of bright light. The black spawn seemed to melt back into the ground. The fog disappeared and Sparrow sank to his knees. Harley rushed over to him, catching him before he fell back into the murky water.

"A-are you okay?" she asked him.

"What- what happened?" Sparrow blinked. The tears were gone, but Harley could still see the fear and hurt in his eyes. What had she told him?

"You listened to her," she shook her head. "And whatever she said to you shook you up pretty badly. I think we need to get out of here before more of them show up. Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'll be fine," the Hero said. She helped him stagger to his feet. "Thank you for your help. You were excellent."

"Just keep your head on your shoulders," she sighed. "You're no good to the sake of Albion if you're dead."

"Right," Sparrow nodded. Harley smiled at him. "Let's get out of here."

* * *

 **So, yeah... POV obviously didn't change. But it will in the next chapter. I think... Still not sure yet. Gotta get in my Reaver mindset...  
**

 **Anyway! Thanks for reading~!**

 **Reviews help~! And I really appreciate them!**


	6. Now I'm Home, Right Where I Belong

**Let's continue with our journey! I've decided the _next_ chapter will be through Reaver's point of view. Just because it wouldn't be fair to you guys to not see Sparrow and Harley's adventure through the rest of Wraithmarsh.  
**

 **A _HUGE_ thanks to DaGangstar074 for being an awesome reviewer and follower to this story. You rock~  
**

 **Anyway, I hope ye enjoy~  
**

 **DISCLAIMER: ALL does not own Fable II or its characters. Her little OC is strictly her own.**

* * *

The other houses proved useless in providing the two of them with useful items, save for a resurrection vial that was nearly empty. Sparrow decided to save it, saying they could refill it at the next apothecary they came across. For now, their only option was to trek forward through the Marsh. No color ever seemed to touch this place. The dead trees were gray, their bare tendrils reaching up towards the gray sky above. The moon struggled to peer through the gloom. The light it created was their only source of guidance. The path rose from the murky water, giving them a drier road to walk on. It split into two, the left path leading up to the rotting bridge overlooking the village. That was the one they wanted to take. Harley took Sparrow's arm when he tried leading them down the left path. He gave her a questioning look. She shook her head.

"This way," she said. Her voice seemed to carry all the way through Wraithmarsh. She cringed. Usually she was never one to hold back in this place. After all, it was her hunting grounds and means of escape. But today... Today felt different. She felt as if the enemies around them heard her speaking, they would both die here. She didn't want that.

"You seem to know a lot about this place," Sparrow whispered. He seemed to understand her concern of being as quiet as possible. His voice did not carry as far as hers.

Harley shrugged. "I told you, I use to come out here all the time to fight Balverines. So often, in fact, I have the lay of the land imprinted permanently in my brain. You could say I'm a map of some sort."

"That makes you useful in three departments," Sparrow commented. She tilted her head.

"Three?"

"You're a bloody excellent shot," he stated sincerely. "And you're good with conversation. With that map in your head, that makes three departments."

Harley's lips twitched into a smile. "Thanks. You're not so bad yourself."

The couple crossed the rickety bridge, moving their feet cautiously. The village had been abandoned for hundreds of years, leaving its wooden structures to rot. Sparrow, for a moment, seemed to space out. After a while, he frowned. "Someone made a deal with the Shadow Court and it killed nearly everyone that lived here."

It wasn't a question. It was an informed statement. Harley realized Theresa must have been speaking to him through the guild seal. She nodded her head sadly, having known Wraithmarsh's history for as long as she could remember. "From the stories my mother use to tell me, he was a young man who wanted to beat Death. To do that, he had to make that deal with the shadows. They gave him eternal life, eternal youth, but at the price of everyone he loved and everyone that cared about him."

Sparrow was quiet. Oakvale had been claimed by the Marsh after that, leaving behind nothing but a bitter memory with a new title and burying its history with its ashes. It was tragic. Harley remembered her mother telling her this story so many times. Not that she enjoyed the tale of destruction and loss, but because out of it came the Hero of Oakvale. There wasn't much known about his whereabouts after his village was destroyed, but his journey was something she had dreamed about as a young girl. It gave her hope that she could turn herself into someone who could help people - hero or not - and not just be someone from dirty, old Bloodstone.

White lights flew over their heads and disappeared through the trees. The ground shook beneath their feet. Harley staggered a bit but managed to keep her balance. Had those been wisps? She hadn't gotten a very good look at them, but she had a sinking feeling in her stomach that they weren't alone anymore. She turned to Sparrow, who gave her a stiff nod. Both brandished their weapons before continuing any farther. Jasper crouched behind them, his shackles raised, his teeth bared. A deep growl rumbled in his throat. Harley squinted through the fog. Ahead, she could see several shapes in the gloom. They wore torn armor, wielding rusted cleavers and axes and cracked shields. _Hollow Men._ Jasper barked at their feet as the walking corpses sprung into action. Harley hung back as Sparrow charged, her pistol raised and her thumb on the hammer. Sparrow cut down the first two with flourish, knocking the third down to its back and running the blade of his sword through its chest. His scars were glowing fiercely. He didn't see the fourth Hollow Man coming at him from behind. Harley cocked the hammer and squeezed the trigger once, sending a bullet whizzing towards the corpse's skull. It blew its head right off of its shoulders and the body crumpled to a heap on the ground.

"Nice shot," Sparrow beamed at her.

They were on the path that would lead them to the cemetery. The stone skeleton statues that lined the path bared down on them with their large swords pointing towards the earth. Soon they would reach the stones gates. They were already more than halfway through the marshes. They took out the waves of Hollow Men that came at them, the bones and tattered armor scattered everywhere as they went. The dirt road dipped back down towards the water. The earth shook underneath them and a blazing white wisp buried itself into the ground. The head of a great war hammer burst from the dirt, followed by a gnarled gray hand. The Hollow Man clawed his way out of his earthy prison and stood tall before them, blocking their path. He was taller and broader than the others they had faced with a horned iron helmet and battered heavy-plated armor. The glowing white eyes pierced through the fog and he charged towards them, his hammer raised and ready to strike. With him came another aggressive wave of lesser Hollow Men. Harley took the first shot, sending the head of one of the weaklings sailing into the gray water. Sparrow sent a shock wave through the bodies before him. She could see the electricity surging through their limbs as they slowed their movements and visibly began to lose control of themselves. The Hero took this time to brandish his sword and cut them down until only the Elder Hollow Man was left. The corpse raised his hammer and struck down on Sparrow, who blocked the attack with his blade. They struggled for a moment, the muscles in Sparrow's arms flexing with the effort. Harley took aim and fired three perfect shots to both of the Hollow Man's arms and one directly between its eyes. The light in them flickered before it eventually died and the body crumpled to the ground.

Sparrow sheathed his cutlass and rolled his shoulder, a smile spread across his face. "Now I can see why you came out here so often," he said. "This is a lot of fun!"

Harley couldn't help but laugh. Here he was in the center of a ghost village, fighting things people normally had nightmares about, and he was here having _fun?_ If only others thought the way he did... Then maybe the world would be less cowardly. "Watch who you say that around," she told him ."If it weren't me standing here, I'm sure they would think you were barking mad."

"I've been called worse," Sparrow shrugged.

"I can imagine," she said, mostly to herself.

The rest of the way was silent. No wisps, no Hollow Men, no Banshees... it was as if nothing was ever present in the Marsh. Harley felt uneasy. What could possibly come next? They came across a sunken clearing, patchy with small islands made of mud. They could see the rest of their path ahead of them and made for it before anything else came plundering about. But the ground rocked both of them to their knees. The water sloshed around and a great mound in the center of the clearing rose up to reveal a large, broad troll coming out of the muck. Atop its head was a moss-covered tree that had long since died and his body was covered in mud from the marsh that smelled foul and dribbled back to the water as it moved. Its large white nerve tendrils wriggled from deep holes in its body. Harley knew those were its weakness, and if they were going to beat this thing, they would have to get rid of those first.

"You won't be able to get close to it," she told Sparrow, readying her pistol. She loaded it with as many bullets as she could. The troll gurgled out a roar and slammed its fist into the ground. The earth gaped open, swallowing the murky water and sending the rivets into three separate directions. Harley leaped out of the way. "You have to attack the exposed nerves."

"Have you forgotten who you're talking to?" Sparrow winked at her. "I have this covered."

They worked together to bring the troll down. Sparrow used his Will to send flames at the exposed nerves while Harley depended on her pistol. Jasper helped too, attacking the lowest nerve he could reach by pouncing. They had manages to get down the the last two when the Hollow Men showed up. They surrounded Sparrow as he sent another flame towards the troll. Harley took them out one by one but was unable to move fast enough. The troll had seen her vulnerability and took its chance. It grabbed a chunk of earth in its hand and hurled it in her direction. It hit the boulder next to her and shattered, a piece cracking into her head. Harley was knocked to the ground. Pain exploded through her head, crippling her. She curled up onto the ground, clutching where the rock had hit her with both hands. Something warm and sticky ran through her fingers. Blood? She let out a whimper of pain. Her vision was dotted with black spots. The troll made a noise that sounded a lot like laughing. Was it mocking her?

"Harley!" Sparrow's voice sounded far away. She heard the crackling of fire as he sent another flame to the troll. There was a tremendous roar and the ground shook, sending stabs of pain throughout her body. Then it stopped and someone was by her side. "Hey, are you alright? Can you see me?"

Large, rough hands cupped Harley's face. Sparrow's brown eyes swam in her vision. She could barely make out the glowing scars across his skin. The rock had hit her fairly hard. "The troll- the troll h-hit me. I-I thi- think I'm bleeding," she managed. Her tongue felt thick. She wished the world would hold still for a moment.

"I can help," Sparrow said. There was a hint of panic in his voice. "Give me a moment. I have it here somewhere, I just know it- ahah!"

A vial was brought to her lips. Sparrow gently cradled her head in his hands as he tipped the potion back into her mouth. It tasted like cherries. She was surprised. The last of the potion washed over her tongue. Harley could feel the pain in her head slowly subside until it was nothing more than a phantom throb at the base of her skull. Her vision stopped swimming and the world came to a calm halt. The black spots were filled with the gray that was Wraithmarsh. Harley slowly sat up, reaching back and feeling where the rock had hit her. Her hair was caked with blood, but it didn't seem as if the wound were bleeding anymore. She turned to Sparrow.

"Thank you," she smiled. "I should have been more careful, really."

"I'm just glad you're okay," he sighed. "I don't need you dying on me now, and _here_ of all places! Your hunting grounds!"

Harley let out a laugh. "How ironic it would be for the hunter to die by the hunted."

"At any rate, we should get out of here before anything else decides to show up."

Sparrow helped the girl to her feet, deciding it would be best to high tail it the rest of the way to Bloodstone. They dashed through the rest of the cemetery, ignoring the Hollow Men that burst from the ground. Both of them had had enough fighting for one day. They broke through the wrought iron gates and through the stone door that lead to the road to Bloodstone. The familiar salty sea air brushed passed Harley face, misting her cheeks just like it did before she left. Below, she could see the docks where sailors were hard at work pulling in their nets full of fish and rolling in barrels of ale onto the ships' decks. She could hear the cries of the merchants advertising their wares and see the pink and black attire of the tarts trying to persuade the drunken men stumbling out of the tavern to spend the night with them. She couldn't stop it. A smile broke through. She was home.

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 **I've decided the _next_ chapter with be Reaver's POV. Just 'cause.  
**

 **Anyway! Thanks for reading~!**

 **Reviews help~! And I really appreciate them!**


	7. How Awkward

**This chapter is a lot shorter than the rest since I'm running short on time. Got finals coming up shortly! *screams loudly in head*  
**

 _ **Ahem..**_

 **Anyway, I hope ye enjoy~  
**

 **DISCLAIMER: ALL does not own Fable II or its characters. Her little OC is strictly her own.**

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"Sir, your gun."

Reaver's attention was brought back to the man before him. He had quite forgotten about the sculptor he had hired for the evening. The man was staring at him with an uneasy expression. He certainly had not expected to be brought to this man's home for a job. As he worked, his eyes glanced over Reaver's pose, chiseling the marble in the right places and making slow but steady progress, as well as the polished pistol in his hand. It was pointed at the ceiling at the moment for the sake of the statue, but the artist knew well enough what this man could do with a weapon such as that (not many people _didn't_ know, in fact) and standing in the same room as him made everything all the more terrifying. He just prayed to the gods that he would get out of here with his life. His family was expecting him home for his daughter's fourth birthday...

Reaver raised the pistol a little higher. He was beginning to feel the muscles in his arm strain from being posed as such for several hours. _Is he quite done? I'm getting tired._ He was irritated, not only because he had been at this for longer than he had anticipated, he had also been following as many rumors on Harley as he could. No word yet of if she had been captured or not, nothing about if she had been brought to Lucien dead or alive. And that bothered him. If she were still out there, that only meant he still had competition for being the best marksman in Albion. He couldn't have that. _There would have been no point in sending her out into the world with false information, then..._

"Hey mate! You have business with Reaver?" Norman's grunt coasted in from the open doors leading straight into the front foyer. He had a visitor? _Oh goody..._ Reaver thought bitterly. He hoped his guard would turn them away and not let anyone through. "He's through the back."

 _You absolute ignoramus, Norman..._ Reaver felt his eye twitch. Footsteps grew closer to his gallery and a very attractive man with black hair stepped inside. He had curious blue scars across his skint hat seemed to be glowing. He was well muscled and wore dyed gray and black adventurer attire with an intricately carved cutlass and yew crossbow strapped to his back. A smile curled the ex-pirate's lips. _You absolute treasure, Norman!_

"Well. Hello there," He greeted. The sculptor continued to move around the marble, hitting the chisel with the hammer in precise places. His uneasy expression had not budged. "Always a nice surprise to have company; I don't get many visitors to my little coastal paradise. Especially ones who might well redefine a man's concept of 'paradise.'"

"I suppose you're Reaver?" the man asked. The pirate grinned.

"Oh, I expect you've heard of me," he said. Then he chuckled. "Yes, yes and who hasn't? But it's you I'm most interested in. On the rare occasions that people make it through Wraithmarsh, they're lost, confused... scared," his mind flashed him images of Harley's face. She had always ventured out to the marshes of her own accord and returned victorious every time. _I suppose she's an exception._ He snapped out of his thoughts. Why should he care about her? She was long gone. He turned his attention back on his visitor. But not you. You're looking for someone. And if you're looking for someone in Bloodstone, let's be honest: you're looking for me."

"How could you possibly know that?" the other asked, his eyebrow quirked. The man crossed his arms over his chest.

"My dear boy, who else would you look for in a town like this? Harlots? Take your pick. There's more than a handful out there. Drunks? Sailors?" Reaver broke pose, holstering his pistol and turning to the man. "I'm the only one here of any importance."

Reaver looked this boy over. He hadn't the slightest idea who he was, but the scars on his skin seemed so familiar o him... Had he read about something like this before? Or was it possible he had known someone with the same affliction? Either way, he wasn't much use to Reaver if even he himself hadn't a clue about the visitor.

"But I'm afraid I hate wasting time on nobodies. That's you," he finally said sternly. But perhaps he could humor the boy - just for a moment. "Tell you what," he added. "Why don't you go out and rescue some travelers, or slay some beasts... or slay some travelers? The details are unimportant. But prove to me that you're worth dealing with and I'll give you my full attention."

The man stood there for a moment, staring at Reaver in disbelief. Was there something on his face? Was his hair out of place? Of course not. Reaver glanced briefly at the artist at work and turned back to his company. Why was he still standing there? "That's it," he said, waving a hand for him to leave. "Tsst. Scoot. Off you go. Vamoose. Geh weg! Allez-vous en."

The other's brows knitted together but he turned to leave, slamming the door of the gallery behind him. Reaver sneered. _Now to inspect the newest masterpiece._ The statue was far from done, but the artist had chiseled out a good chunk of the marble made to look like the side of him. The pose was perfect, his posture precise (much better than the painter he had hired days before), and his- _Wait a moment..._ There it was. The first mistake that could not be undone. It was almost laughable. He took out his pistol and _tut-tut'd_ the artist.

"Do you really think my buttocks look like that?" he asked. The fear in the man's eyes as Reaver raised his pistol gave him purpose. He didn't even flinch as he pulled the trigger and the man's blood painted the disaster that was to be tossed into the bay. "A shame, really. You seemed to have promise."

The gallery door opened again. That young man could not have possibly gained popularity _that_ fast. If he had, it would have been more impressive than anything Reaver had seen in his life. He turned to the door, his pistol raised just in case - and froze.

"What-"

Harley stood in the doorway, her hood drawn over her face. Her eyes pierced through him. He could feel her anger from where he stood.

"Why, Harley," he said. "What a pleasant surprise."

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 **Thanks for reading~!**

 **Reviews help~! And I really appreciate them!**


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